


Take a Bow

by anisstaranise



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Theatre, Broadway, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 16:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11741016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise/pseuds/anisstaranise
Summary: He moves in the semi-darkness with ease, muscle memory guiding his every step. He slaps the sign above the doorway-The stage is a-calling, Go play!- (for good luck) before he turns to descend the stairs to the basement of the theatre.





	Take a Bow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Seblaine Week 2017](http://seblaineaffairs.tumblr.com/tagged/sw2017): _Days 3+6 - Broadway+Celebrity/Famous_.
> 
> Inspired by **Leslie Odom Jr.** 's broadway.com vlog, _Aaron Burr, Sir_ and [this](https://twitter.com/LacketyLac/status/748160391042244609) picture of Lin-Manuel Miranda and Alex Lacamoire.

The glare of the late morning sun disappears as he walks through the side door of the handsome building standing at the end of the street, its neighbours comprising an ancient block of a walk up apartment with a cheerful little bodega on the ground floor and a towering skyscraper across from it that looms like a metal and concrete giant; he loves that about the city- the old blends harmoniously with the new like a time capsule of old bursting forth in the present.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust in the absence of sunshine as he steps inside. As per usual, the doorman- Earl- greets him from his alcove carved in the wall, fist-bumping the man who has guarded the theatre’s doors for the past three decades; shows and musicals change with the season, the theatre a mere sojourn but Earl remains ever faithful.

He moves in the semi-darkness with ease, muscle memory guiding his every step. And as per his daily ritual of a fist-bump with Earl, he slaps the sign above the doorway- _The stage is a-calling, Go play!_ \- (for good luck) before he turns to descend the stairs to the basement of the theatre.

At the bottom of the steps, he comes to a brightly lit hallway, the fluorescent lights bathing its white glow on the exposed pipes lining the low ceiling above and the dull gray cement floors below. The walls however are a burst of wondrous colours, with posters of past shows and musicals that had called the theatre home hanging on each side, down the length of the hallway.

He passes the nook of the wardrobe department where staff was busily starching the collars of the men’s shirts; because nothing shows more accuracy in costumes of a musical set in the post-Edwardian era than starched collars, he thinks amusedly.

“Hey, Jess,” he greets, making a slight detour on the way to his dressing room to give the pint-sized lady a kiss on the cheek.

“Break legs, Sebastian,” she says in return before playfully shoving him out of her station so she could resume her chore.

Walking away with a wide grin stretched across his face, he stops by the massive cork board. Notices and flyers of every colour- _30% discount for cast and crew at Bill’s Diner_ , _Dog-walking services available_ ; _call Juan_ \- peppered the rectangular surface. He picks up a pen hanging from a cord at the bottom left of the board and signs his name on the sign-in sheet, a finger tracing up the list and smiling at a name at the top, a signature already etched next to it; Blaine Anderson.

Blaine had left early that morning, his boyfriend reluctantly leaving the warmth of their bed and his embrace to meet with the show’s director and go over some of the musical arrangements; it’s not unusual for his boyfriend to be summoned earlier on two-show days, being the show’s lyricist and Musical Director.

He taps on the name three times as he always does- a silly little ritual he does every time he signs in. It’s not so much out of superstition rather than an endearment where he imagines Blaine can physically feel his touch no matter where he is in the theatre.

A fellow castmate- one of the swings- claps his back in greeting before he, too, signs the sheet.

“See you out there,” he calls back to his castmate as he pushes off in the direction of his dressing room.

Once in his room, he deposits the backpack he’d been carrying- his laptop and the novel he’d been reading tucked away in it- and flops on the dainty couch crammed between the two walls of the shoebox space. His dressing room may be small but he has no complaints about it; the space grants him a sliver of peace from a chaotic schedule and providing a sense of home when he needs to get in character or to just rest after a show; it’s a space he can call his own.

He starts his make-up regimen once he’s settled; a half-drunk cup of _cafecito_ sits amongst the foundations, contouring sticks and bronzers littering the top of his dresser. An orchestra’s rendition of Leo Friedman’s _Let Me Call You Sweetheart_ blares through his laptop’s speakers as he runs a sponge on his skin to powder his face, upwards into his hairline and down his neck, the music helping him get into character.

Dried flower bouquets and other mementos he’s collected throughout the show’s run frame the fringes of his large dresser mirror, along with the notes and fan-art he’s received at stage door post-show. One picture stands out the most; it’s a photo taken almost a year ago- of Blaine standing on tiptoes, lips pulled in a half smile as they kiss on the show’s opening night. A pang of gratitude hits him square in the chest at the sight of it, counting his lucky stars on how fortunate it is for him to be living his dream of becoming an actor. And best of all, he gets to live his dream with Blaine by his side.

Once his make-up is done, he lathers a generous amount of pomade in his sandy brown hair before combing it back in style, making sure there is no hair out of place. In the mirror, his character of Baron Wesley slowly comes into view.

His dresser, Chen Wei, shows up half an hour later, the hanger carrying his costume for Act 1 hooked on her finger, Beyonce’s songs blasting from her phone in a holster at her hip, the modern beat clashing with Friedman’s 1910 symphony creating a cacophony of sounds. It’s another one of his daily rituals, impromptu dance parties with Chen Wei in between getting dressed. Funnily enough, getting his adrenaline up before a show helps calm his nerves.

Chen Wei leaves once every piece of costume is in place, from Baron Wesley’s Windsor-knot silk tie down to the shiny winged-tip leather shoes. There’s still plenty of time before the call for cast to take their places but he opts to make his way up to the stage rather than lounge around in his dressing room.

He strides down the hallway, the echoes of his steps drowned out by the mix of different music wafting from the many opened doors of the rest of the cast’s dressing rooms. He passes the suite of Tina Cohen-Chang, the lead actress and his Baron Wesley’s love interest, the Lady Evangeline, and spies the mic wrangler placing a skin-coloured worm-like mic on her forehead, snaking it in her shiny black hair while her dresser styles her tresses to conceal it. She blows him a kiss as he walks by while some of the other cast members wave him in to join their pre-show rituals. He politely declines and gestures for them to carry on; he has his own pre-show rituals to observe- the most important one yet.

He weaves through backstage with ease and comes up stage left. A group of swings are on stage, with their incredibly talented choreographer, Brittany Pierce, leading the rehearsals, no doubt polishing up some of the numbers’ choreography. Her movements are crisp and fluid all at once, reinforcing the show’s story where words and music fail. She winks at him as he makes his way to the front of the stage until he sees the opening in the stage floor.

The smell of wood polish and old theatre fill his nose as he flattens himself on the stage at the mouth of the opening, dangling himself upside down inside of it, careful not to wrinkle his costume.

It’s the orchestra pit- Blaine’s natural habitat, he likes to jest.

“Hi, handsome,” a voice greets him a mere inch away.

“Hi,” he reciprocates sultrily as a head of dark curls come into view.

Graceful fingers tinkle the keyboard keys as the notes of Blaine’s composition waft throughout the theatre’s speakers above them while he hangs next to his boyfriend’s head.

“Shouldn’t you be doing your vocal warm ups?” Blaine asks, his eyes fixed upon the instrument.

“Well-” he says, scootching closer to his boyfriend as best he can. “- I thought I had my vocal warm ups this morning with all the screaming you coaxed out of me.”

Even in the dimness of the bare light bulbs screwed into the walls of the orchestra pit, he can see Blaine’s cheeks darkening with colour no doubt from replaying their bout of morning tussle in his mind; he knows exactly what to say to get a reaction out of his boyfriend.

“You’re the worst,” Blaine says shyly, finally turning to face him.

He arches a brow, questioning (and silently wonders what arching a brow would look like upside down). “Really? Am I?”

Blaine smiles and immediately the dimly lit orchestra pit is a little brighter; how he loves Blaine’s smile.

“No, not really,” his boyfriend says, curling a hand at the back of his neck, his Baron Wesley hair still slicked back, intact.

Blaine claims his lips and kisses him deep if a little clumsy, gently pushing his tongue past his teeth, languidly caressing into his mouth. His nose scratches against the stubble on his boyfriend’s chin but he doesn’t care. Every bone in his body feels at ease, every muscle relaxed; kissing Blaine will do that you, he muses.

“Cast to places, please,” a voice booms throughout the theatre. “Cast to places.”

“Bring the house down, handsome,” Blaine says after pulling away, luscious lips bruised from the kiss.

He pushes himself out of the pit, grinning from ear to ear, keeping Blaine’s well wishes close to his chest as he takes his place backstage. Bring the house down; he intends to do just that.

The ovation at the end of the first show is thunderous, the applause vibrating his bones. It’s such an honour, a privilege to be amongst the cast and crew; the people that have been there in the beginning when the show was merely a concept, slowly being developed in workshops and rehearsals. At present, they’re sold out straight through the next month and nothing beats the joy of seeing Blaine’s head of curls popping out of the orchestra pit, taking his bow, basking in the adoration he so deserves.

The interval before the second show begins is precious to him; any time he gets to spend with Blaine is precious, worth more than infinite weights of gold. They steal moments away from the rest of the cast, sneaking up to the technicians loft high above the stage like two teenage kids slinking off for a rendezvous.

They climb up the steel ladder high up the theatre, with their paper-bagged lunches from Bill’s Diner clenched between their teeth. He offers a hand to help Blaine up once he’s made it to the top and they make their way to the catwalk. There, they eat their lunches with their feet dangling beneath them like young kids dipping their toes in the summer-warmed lake at the edge of a pier.

“I almost forgot the words to _Breathe Once More_ ,” he admits in between bites of his sandwich.

Blaine laughs heartily. “Why is it always _that_ song? Since the beginning, it’s always _that_ song.”

“Your melodies and words are way too complex for a layman like me,” he says, his awe for Blaine’s talents apparent in his tone. It coaxes another laugh from his boyfriend- a shy one this time- blushing at the compliment. Ever the humble one, he notes of Blaine.

As they finish their lunches, they fill the seconds just talking about anything that comes to mind; Blaine’s brother Cooper’s new girlfriend, or his sister’s third pregnancy, or where they’d like to have breakfast the next morning. Their little moments between shows are worth a fortune to him.

After the curtain falls on the second show of the night, Blaine lounges on his dressing room couch, nursing a glass of rosé- a well-deserved post-show treat- as he packed up for the night, curling his laptop adapter and stuffing it into his backpack along with some gifts he’d picked up from fans earlier.

“You up for stage door tonight?” he asks, eyeing Blaine in the mirror.

Blaine contemplates his answer as he takes another sip. Slowly, he shakes his head.

“Not tonight, no.”

He nods in agreement; Blaine has been up since the crack of dawn and has barely gotten any rest since. If he is to direct the orchestra in his best form for the following night’s show, Blaine needs his rest- even if that means disappointing some fans who had waited for hours on end. Blaine’s self-care and well-being are most important, especially to him.

And if he’s being honest, he’s not up for it, either. Two-show days take a lot out of him.

The crisp night air greets them as they slip out the side entrance, Earl holding the door for them _,_ feet carrying them home to the modest apartment in Washington Heights, their fingers intertwined. Side by side, they leave the bright lights of The Great White Way behind knowing it’d be there- shining ever brightly- to greet them again the next day.

\---END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Comments welcomed.


End file.
